


Spring Flowers Bring Forth A Worried Father

by FourAlignments



Series: Ha'Bayit Shelanu [2]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Erik Has Feelings, Erik Lehnsherr Speaks Yiddish, Erik actually being Jewish, Erik is a Sweetheart, Gen, Good Parent Erik Lehnsherr, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Hank McCoy/Raven | Mystique, Overprotective Erik Lehnsherr, Parent Charles Xavier, Parent Erik Lehnsherr, Pietro Maximoff is a speedy cinnamon roll and must be protected at all cost, Protective Erik Lehnsherr, Sebastian Shaw Being an Asshole, dadneto, kid Peter maximoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25411486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourAlignments/pseuds/FourAlignments
Summary: Pietro picks flowers for Raven to make her feel better about her blue form. Without telling his father about it.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Pietro Maximoff, Erik Lehnsherr & Pietro Maximoff & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Magda (X-Men), Hank McCoy/Raven | Mystique, Pietro Maximoff & Charles Xavier
Series: Ha'Bayit Shelanu [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839922
Comments: 10
Kudos: 101





	Spring Flowers Bring Forth A Worried Father

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few historical inaccuracies: Speed Racer (1967), Johnny Quest (1964) or when Hanna-Barbera was actually given a budget bigger than a ham sandwich, Scoopy-Doo (1969), and the Star Trek:Original series episode "Wink of an Eye" in 1968 wouldn't have come out during the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962.  
> That's it. 
> 
> I'm really sad to report that some of my writing style didn't come though when importing this into AO3. Because I really wanted to translate Pietro's thought in such a way by slowly taking out the spacing in between lettering  
> because I thought it would be a cool idea and yes it would make your eyes sore, but that was the point. To be overwhelmed by his thoughts as it was written because his thoughts are really going at 100 miles per hour. But, AO3 and their system will not allow that formatting. So I am very sad that it didn't translate.

The sunlight bathed the meadow in golden radiance and the air thick with early morning mist that disputed the rays in between towering Sugar Maple, American Mountain Ash, and Sycamore trees. Woodpeckers with their candy apple red feathered mohawks begin pecking and drilling for their morning meal. Nearby a babbling brook, frogs croaked songs, and dragonflies hovered over the water cleaning their eyes.

Overhead a red-tailed hawk swooped downward and snatched an unassuming hare in its talons, before swooping back into a tall white oak tree. Morning dew clung to the grass, leaves, and flowers. Yet, the despite the light, the air was still quite chill and the ground wet with mushy mud. Cicadas raddled a droning a shilling noise throughout the meadow; uniformed bees with their dusted with vibrate yellow pollen, busy collecting their daily quota for the hive; all the while, an iridescent hummingbird licked its fair share of nectar from long royal purple salvia; It was a feast to end all feasts.

The world was made new again.

Pietro safaried through the tall wild grasses and the multitude of wildflowers, curving and weaving to reach toward the sun; the leaves brushed against his small body. Grasshoppers catapulted away, along with fungus gnats’ swarms scouring for safety, as the sliver-haired mutant made his way through the thick grass and the newly wet soil squishing under foot.

“Raven will love this one.” Picking an oxeye daisy.

Pietro had spent the better part of the morning collecting flowers. He found Blue violet, bunchberry, field bindweed, buttercups, marigold, pink morning glory, goldenrod, foxglove, Victoria Blue Slavia, periwinkles, cornflowers, bellflower, black-eyed Susan, Indian blankets, milkmaids, daffodils, and lady’s glove. It was great to get outside the stuffy mansion cut off from one another with so many walls between them that just smelled old and moldy like the school building in Europe upright and impersonal. But outside…it was simple and all his previous worries rolled off of his young shoulders and into the dark rich soil, damped from the morning showers.

The sky stretched beyond the horizon, beyond the hills, beyond tallest pine needle trees, beyond satellite dish, beyond cold water lakes, beyond where the buzzards circling looking for something, beyond the somethings and the maybes, and the greater watery bodies of the ocean dark and turbulent, beyond the doubter and look-downers, who only saw him as someone to be bullied and belittled because of his unusual hair; which adults grabbed and pulled out bushels of light sliver hair with a great deal of hurt, not really caring about him; that left him with bald spots. It got so bad at one point, where he had to where a beanie or beret, so people wouldn’t touch his hair.

There was one woman, who ripped a fist full of his hair inside the loof for no reason. His high-pitched squeak echoed through the art gallery. Why did so strangers want to touch and take a part of him? It wasn’t there’s to keep. His scalp bleed, dripping down his back, leaving a sticky coagulating trail behind into his shirt. Being a mutant was hard sometimes. He had never seen his own Vati so angry, violence bubbling below the surface; he was almost afraid that the glass pyramid would collapse. He picked up on a few words that his Vati said in French and bearing his shark teeth at her. The women flashed a smile, so fake looking and dishonest it reminded the speedster of the Coke-Cola and Cracker Jack commercials in between his shows _Batman, Johnny Quest_ , and _Scooby-Doo_ that he watched on Saturday morning, before breakfast, when Vati was sleeping late into the afternoon. Smiling so hard that her cheeks hurt. For a moment switched to English to say: ‘Exotic.’ Why would he be exotic? Both of his parents were from Germany. At that point, him even angrier.

But he couldn’t understand why his father would be so upset. It was just hair; it would grow back. People were bullies and they were going to do what they were going to do regardless of what he wanted.

Beyond the great beyond. He never knew the sky could be so big, gazing up to the great blue yonder; the sun near blinding him. Rapidly blinking back to get the dark spots dancing across his dark brown eyes to cease their movements. It was nice having a friend like Raven. She understood him and what it was like being a mutant like him was like.

Ravenwasgoingtolove them! She wasgoingtobesohappy!Then she will be blue all the time and she wasgoingtobehappy.Charleswillbehappybecausehissiterishappy!Everyonewasgoingtobehappy! Raven is going to be BLUE and PROUD! Because she is a mutant and Vati told him that they should be proud.He’s going to be happy and proud because Raven is happy. And Proud. Everyone is going to be happy. He never understood why Charles said kolibri hover. Thebirdiesflaptheirwingsineightmotions. Could he not see it?

But Raven was going to be so happy! Everyone would be happy. Why couldn’t everyone be happy? They should be proud of their mutation. Then why should he have to hide his hair underneath a hat? Couldn’t people see it made him unhappy? Couldn’t they just accept them? If they asked nicely, it was just a mistake on their part…They couldn’t be that cruel on their own…Shaw he hurt them. He took away Bobeshi and Zeydee.Was he going to hurt anyone else he knew about ? Charles made his father so happy , along with Raven , Hank, and Alex, and Moira , and Sean. His Vati was going to stop that wasn’t he ? He was stronger than he could ever be. What if he killed him? Alone. Alone. alone. What if he found his mother? His Daj. He didn’t want to be alone.

Were other s going to hurt them because they were different. Shaw already did. He was going to hurt Vati again. He didn’t want Vati to be hurt by him. All he wanted to see Daj again. She made him so happy, when he saw her. His Vati needed to be happy. He wanted to him to happy. He need flowers also ! Yes that would do! What flowers did he like again?

I can make him something! or! Or! Draw him a picture. That was even better! Food! Challah! No… that wouldn’t work they had that every Friday for Sabbath . It needed to be special. Was he special? His sliver hair made him different from everyone else. Everyone adult gave him this weird smile. It gave him the nervous.

WhatifShawtookhim? What if Shaw killed him?

Pietro came to screeching halt, dirt and gravel flying up in the air like from a Looney Tunes. He didn’t like that thought. Giving out shallow breaths, and slumping on to the ground, worms wiggling into the free air dislodged from their tunnels that they created when the dirt was kicked up by him. Clinching the sides of head; his thoughts went so fast so sometimes. So fast and frantic that he couldn’t keep up them despite his incredible speed. The young speedster rocked himself back and worth, tears threatening to fall. He couldn’t be so weak for Daj, he had to be strong. It was just a few nasty and speedy thoughts. But still yet they came faster and faster and still yet faster.

“ _Gam Zeh Ya‘avor. Gam Zeh Ya‘avor. Gam Zeh Ya‘avor. Gam Zeh Ya‘avor._ _Gam Zeh Ya’avor_ _.“_ Pietro said to himself over and over. This too shall past. It was a simple mantra that Vati taught him about during their Torah study session, during a very bad episode of Speed Racer thoughts traveling at Mach 5 speed through his mind. Here he comes. Here comes Speed Racer. He's a demon on wheels. He's a demon and he's gonna be chasin' after someone. He's gainin' on you so you better look alive. He's busy revvin' up the powerful Mach 5. Pietro shook his head shaking the Speed Racer theme song out of head. It was so catchy. Once again re-focused on his mantra, “ _Gam Zeh Ya’avor_ _. Gam Zeh Ya’avor. Gam Zeh Ya’avor._ _Gam Zeh Ya’avor.”_ His father told him about the story of King Solomon or Jedidiah, who one day wanted to humble his Minster Benaiah ben Yehoyada and he tasked him to find a ring with special powers one that: a happy man looks at it, he becomes sad, and if a sad man looks at it, he becomes happy. The Minster searched all spring and all summer, but couldn’t find it. Until he went to the poorest quarters of Jerusalem, where he passed by a merchant, who was setting up for the day and Benaiah asked: ‘Have you by any chance heard of a special ring that makes the happy wearer forget his joy and the broken-hearted wearer forget his sorrows?’ The elderly man reached down and engrave something on it. Benaish took the ring and it read: _Gam Zeh Ya’avor_ or This too shall pass.

Vati applied the lesson to how to cope with his racing thoughts, when he wasn’t around to comfort him and talk him down. He instructed him whenever this happened and he couldn’t be there. He could say this mantra. He heard his father words clearly in his mind: “Thoughts could wonder aimless; go in circles; or flowed like a river into the mighty sea. But they were thoughts and they were fleeting. They would go away. _Gam Zeh Ya’avor or_ this too shall pass.”

Slowly but surely his thoughts came down to a more understandable speed and not so overwhelming like huge frigid ocean waves crashing onto the beach, that he couldn’t hope to swim in. A smooth stone, river washed and shined by the morning drizzle. Sunflowers bushing up together, interwoven reaching skyward. Golden brown dead grass crunching and humbling toward the ground to make new life for seedlings. Shiny acorns, dried out pine-cones, and winged pods fluttering toward the ground when the wind gusted through the meadow; spiky brown sweet gum balls that hurt his soles of feet one time during a picnic with both Vati and Daj, a time when life was happier.

Dozens of smells and objects flashing for attention in his mind. Focusing one plant, the twisty, turny, topsy-turvy sunflowers. Pietro leaped to them and pulled on a particular vine to get it free. It wouldn’t budge in its stubbornness as its roots buried deep into the fertile earth.

A dried twinge snapping caught Pietro’s attention. The tall grass swooping downward rustled. Pietro sucked in a breath. Was it a wolf, readying to eat him? Or a bobycat? Or bear? Wolverines? Coyote? Dragons of Ashida? Oswald Cobblepot’s killer Penguins? 

A medium size chicken pattered out of the grasses. Pietro let out an audible breath of relief. It was a very strange chicken with a dark green like a duck glinted out the rising sun’s rays, red painted eyes with a thin white collar around its neck; deep mahogany plumage spotted with black tipped; shades of sandalwood brushed with black; then some of the feathers were reddish-brown with white eyes in them; near the end were gray bristled feathers falling down like a lion’s mine; and several tiger stripped tail feathers stretching away from its body. “Oh…you’re a pretty birdy.” The chicken cocked its head to the side.

He wasn’t gone for that long…and a devious idea pop into his mind.

Pietro wasn’t even using his full speed. He rapidly blinked to keep his eyes from dry and itchy. The poor chicken ran for dear life fast as its little hocks could take it only a measly eight or ten miles per hour. Flushing into the air. The speedster right on its heels. Flapping its pudgy wings to gain ground away from the speeding mutant in another pasture full of golden wheat ready to harvest. Fluttering down to the ground. Out of breath.

“Uh oh.” Coming across a flattened area among the wheat; along with the chicken’s girlfriend sitting on the nest full of eggs. The bird puffed up its belly feathers, stretching out its wingspan. Charged at the young mutant squawking and threatening claw and peck at him. The speedster fled.

He turned his head looking back toward the golden field. Vati always told him to look where he was running. Didn’t see a large tree root nob poking out of the ground. He tripped. Momentum had other ideas, as he was flung several meters into the bottom of a mud bed seep. A leopard spotted with almost neon green tinge, ribbited and croaked; not at all paying attention to the mutant who landed in the swampy muddy water before jumping away. Bright green chlorophyll busted on his thick white and navy-blue shirt causing stains. Pietro pulled his head up. Sticky mud clung to Pietro’s face like a Chimney sweep’s ash and soot after a hard day’s work. The hand drawn sharpie sliver lightning bolt on his converses was painted in squishy mud.

Cicadas rattled and the sun was climbing ever higher and warming the area. The humidity stuck to his skin. Water evaporated and leeched from the ground and steaming upwards.

He wasn’t going to be out for that long anyway and he’d be returning to the mansion. Not that it mattered, his Vati was probably not even up yet. He’d only been out for thirty minutes, but he wasn’t gone for a long time. He’d be back for breakfast.

Pietro walked over to his pile of flowers that he had collected over the course of the morning. Pulled up a parallel veined tall grass to tie the bouquet together.

An eerie silence descended upon the meadow. No frogs croaked. The birds stopped singing. The woodpecker stopped pecking. The hawk went flew away to safer ground. Only the trees brushed as the wind swiped through. The brooks babbled.

This was not fun anymore and something was very _wrong_.

Pietro sat back up. Bouquet in hand. This was wrong. It wasn’t right. No sound. From animals. Or birdies.

A dry twig snapped. In the outer banks of the forest. On the edge of the clearing. Pietro gasped in air. He wanted Vati. Hugging the flowers closer.

Pietro ran. Miles, kilometers passing before his eyes as if they were steps. The young mutant went to the first door at Mr. Xavier’s huge house he could find. Which happened to the side door to the kitchen bring in the wind with him like a close friend behind him. Converse screeched across the laminate title floors leaving a long scruff mark on the floor.

“Oh! Morning Pietro. I didn’t know you were up.” Raven said, checking the clock, “It’s nearly eleven thirty.” Before adding, and sucking in a sharp breath, “I do not need to be talking to Hank until three O’clock in the morning.” A yawn over came her. Peering over behind Pietro’s back, where he was hiding his flowers.

Pietro’s dark soft eyes shifted, finally picking up the social cue that Raven was curious about the flowers he was holding, “I—I- think you look pretty in your blue form Raven. A-and I picked theses for you, so y-you know that you’re pretty. You should be reminded that you are—Pretty.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Pietro.” Patting his sliver head, walking over to sink, “I’m going to put theses in a vase in my room.” Opening the cabinet underneath to get a glass vase out, washing it with soap and water, then filling it up with water. Unsheathing the bouquet from its grassy belt and placing them in the vase. Sprucing them up with her hands, weaving in-between the varieties. The shapeshifter checked the coffee pot, the coffee made by Erik that morning had long since became cold and no longer desirable to drink. Raven dumped out the remaining cold coffee down the sink and tossed out the grounds in the trashcan, “Do you want pancakes?”

Pietro zoomed over to the table and replied, “Yes, please! And thank you!” Raven came over to the pantry getting necessary ingredients for pancakes: flour, baking soda, sugar, salt, and vegetable oil. Out of the fridge: milk, eggs, and butter. Brought out the measuring cups for the recipe, a large bowl, a whisk, and a spatula. Got out the cast-iron griddle that had been used since the Great War, so it was well seasoned by the many uses and had this thick layer of seasoning and a modern 50s housewife might have tossed it out by just how in disrepair it seemed to be in; brought a new and improved consumerist pan that wasn’t made like they used to.

“How many do you want Pietro?” Nestling the dense cast iron skillet on the wrapped snakes of the electric stove-top, turning the dial to medium-low heat.

“Two—no! Um. Twenty—Ten. Ten. Ten will do!”

“A tall stack coming right up.” Raising the spatula in the air. Swirling Crisco onto the griddle as the oil melted and on its outer edges started to minute bubbles formed. Out of earshot of Pietro; Pouring the pancake batter on the griddle top, frying, and caking up on the griddle, “If only more guys acted like you. I would not be having this problem. Not that Charles would understand.” Mumbling to herself.

Somehow the speedster caught her small whisper of self-doubt, “I would date you!”

Pietro was this hyperactive ball of pure sunlight and joy, and sweetness with an unmatched kindness that she ever heard from Erik, was that Pietro inherited from his mother. No wonder Erik wanted to protect this source of happiness in his life; would stop at nothing to ensure his son safety. She did not get on that side of Erik. Ever. “Perhaps when you’re older Pietro, then I might.” Flipping the cake over to let it cook on its other side. “But that’s really sweet.”

The door nearly ripped off its hinges. “Raven! Pietro is gone, Shaw must have taken him…” All the metal in the small kitchen started to vibrate and clang against their respective surfaces as Erik entered. Before teetering off, all of Erik’s fear, anger, worry, despair, and thoughts of his mother’s death rewound in his mind on repeat, dissipated when seeing his own son, just sitting at the table; seemly unaware of what his own actions caused. Erik could have collapsed right on the spot to see his son unwarily happy just sitting at the table. “ _Baruch Hashem_!” Erik’s eyes rolled toward the sky. His son was safe. Cupping his hands over his mouth, blinking away. He would not cry in front of his son. Not after Shaw almost kidnapping his son. He would shed them after his death. Oh…He could have lost him. How stupid could he be! Licking his chapped lips, dry after so many painful hours shouting his child’s name and running and searching for his lost child.

Pietro shifted in his chair toward his father and gave a simple wave like it was just like any other morning, “ _Shalom aleichem, Vati! Ma shelomcha?”_ The state of his peace was not serene, it was turbulent like foamy bottomless depths of the North Sea, crashes and unrelenting, until he would be pulled under by his content sorrows. But he could bare that pain. For one more day if Pietro was in his life. The sea would settle and be at peace when Shaw was dead and no longer could hurt his family anymore.

Mumbling under his breath, “ _Du farkirtst mir di yorn_!” Erik cursed in Yiddish, gritting his words against his shark teeth, not at his son, but at himself for another subsequent failure of parenting under his watch. A failure to Pietro. A failure to Magda. A failure to his duty as a father to protect, and nurture and care for. A failure to God. Oh, please don’t take him away from me. Erik pleaded and silently prayed. Not another. He couldn’t bare the pain. He already had too many family members taken away from him. Please. Please not Pietro. The infinite light in his life. Not the light and warmth of the sun could eclipse the radiance that Pietro brought to his life. Everything he did to get rid of Shaw and the men like him was for him. He wasn’t the Frankenstein’s monster that Shaw wanted him to be. Pietro proved that. He had to prove that….

“ _Aleichem shalom_.” Unto you peace. Pietro needed peace. Peace of his surroundings. Peace of his family. Peace of mind of his safety. Peace of a unite family, small as it maybe, but together they will be. Peace of stability, where he could prosper and thrive in his education. Peace from violence, direct or indirect; not under threat of the barrel of a gun or inequitable social arrangements of health care as a privilege to the wealthy; dying simply because he couldn’t get a vaccine, that should have been free in the first place. Peace from humans who wanted to steal and use his body as weapons or objects; commodifing, valuing for only its utility, once thoroughly depleted in this unequal exchange to be shucked away, discarded, like trash.

Peace.

All he wanted was to have peace. Never again would his child suffer as he had suffered.

Erik came over to hold and hug his son as if it would be the last time, he would see him. “Vati you’re scratchy.” Erik’s ginger bristles brushing against his son’s soft vanilla custard cheeks. Erik responded by hugging him even tighter, hearing his son’s rapidly beating heart. Pietro was alive and safe back in his arms.

“Well, it looks like you’re going to be getting your bath early today.” Peering down at the floor Pietro’s converse dripping mud onto the laminate. The dark blue and white striped shirt and dark navy shorts that he had just washed a day go, now stained with mud and grass. Erik inspected his son and let out a sigh, when he saw brush burns on his knees and calves and turned over Pietro’s palms red raspberry abrasives. What on earth did Pietro do? Play football all by himself? The metalbender flipped on the water and opened a cabinet door, filled with kitchen towels and washcloths went over sink and gaped a clean wash cloth; sloshed it under the warming water and slathered it with dish soap; shutting off the water. Folding the cloth a few times and squeezing out the excess water, before making his way back over to the speedster.

“But I don’t want to, Vati…” The younger mutant starting to starch at an itchy spot on his shoulder, before moving to his hip, stomach, before stretching down to itch on his calf. His son was not only covered in mud, but also had poison ivy. If this was any other day this would have been amusing.

“Well…you look like a mudfish.” Erik began cleaning off his son’s face, “and I do not want a mudfish. I want a son.” Raven, flipping over another pancake, gave a short burst of giggles. “Besides, we’re guests here and I don’t want to ruin a hundred-year-old mansion with my son refusing to take a bath.” Erik paused to let Pietro ponder, before adding: “Or be a mudfish and sleep outside. Your choice.”

Pietro grumbled, “I’ll take a bath.” Shifting in his chair as Raven brought over a stack of pancakes, hot and steamy, fluffy and a touch of sweetness filled the surrounding air. Pietro bulldozed through his hotcakes. Crudely cuttings through his thick stack, piled high, as his fine motor skills had yet to develop fully, “A chicken tried to eat me.” Changing the topic, hoping his father wouldn’t notice, and plunged a great helping into his mouth.

“It seems you had quite the adventure.” Before asking: “What did it look like?” There were certainly no chickens around the mansion, he figured the Xavier’s were not the type to keep livestock on the grounds, too beneath them.

“It had long tail like a tiger, a green head with uh collar...white! It had red paint around its eyes. It was poked-dotted.” A pheasant…that little sneak. He was going to be quite cunning he was older. Teenagers. That…that would be a challenge for sure. It would make his mastering his mutation look like a cakewalk. Lifting a submarine would be easier than dealing with his son as a teenager. At least he would have Magda by his side. Erik was done finally cleaning Pietro’s face, he could at least look presentable, but he still _required_ a bath.

“No wonder you’re so hungry. You missed first and second breakfast.”

“What is he? A hobbit, Erik?” Raven joked as she was in the kitchen washing up the dishes that she had used for Pietro’s brunch. Before making her own small

She was thinking oatmeal. Yes, oatmeal would be great after having one too many shots of tequila; among other mixed beverage, some better than others.

“No…but a very hungry mutant. Who hasn’t said his blessings yet.” Erik levitated Pietro’s utensils up in the air out of grasp for his short arms. Pietro’s shoulder collapsed and he held his stomach, growling like a bear coming out hibernation. He was already half way through his meal, but he was still starving, He just wanted to eat. Erik heard it too.

Erik put Raven’s noise in the kitchen out of his mind. Gave a weighty breath out, and sang “בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה', אֱ-לֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, בּוֹרֵא מִינֵי מְזוֹנוֹת” Pietro following suit, his high-pitched child voice trying his best to follow the blessing. Before repeating it in English: “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, Who creates varieties of nourishment.”

This was not how he wanted their morning to go. Pietro missed both _Modeh Ani_ and _Elohai Neshamah_. Which were both needed for Pietro’s daily routine to make him less hyperactive and more manageable. Pietro needed peace in stillness; the art of focus as much as his mutation would allow. Their little schedule, if they truly had a schedule to beginning with, was disturbed when moving in with new people. But, there was almost a sense of embarrassment when doing their scared rituals in front of others.

Pietro had true friends that cared for him. Alex, who came up to him one afternoon and was the type to be standoffish and hold his emotions to his chest; perhaps being in prison, he had to put on a face of a tough guy or being solidarity so long it changed him; that hanging out with his son reminded him of his own little brother, Scott. Perhaps in the future, Scott could meet Pietro. So, Pietro would have another friend his age.

“Erik you’ve taught your son well.” Patting him on his brown leather clad shoulder, “He brought me flowers.” Sipping on her sugary sweet and creamy coffee. Erik looked over to the vase filled with flowers sitting near the kitchen sink. Pietro was still in trouble, sure. But this made what he did no less wrong, but understandable. Raven did need to accept her appearance and not on what other and society expected to look like.

The kitchen door opened, it was Charles, hair a mess and heavily breathing; a light sheen of sweat covered his brow. “My friend, I think sensing your child is your sixth sense or a secondary mutation.” Before collapsing into a chair exhausted. Erik came over with a glass of cold water. The telepath drank it down famished by his desperate sprint to catch up to his friend,

“Ah, the next thing you will be telling me Charles is that I can move entire continents.” Erik joked, he wouldn't be able to that in a hundred years. 

"How long does it take you usually to run a mile, Erik?" Taking another sip of his water. 

“I usually clock four-thirty in a mile and five kilometres in fourteen minutes.” Rolling back his shoulders, soothing the overtaxed muscles that were going to hit him tomorrow morning, “Though,” gesturing to his son, as he went back over to refill Charles’s glass, “Pietro could outclass me and Armin Hary without breaking a sweat.”

Charles asked to Pietro, genuinely curious as to how the young speedster perceived time, “How long do you think you were gone?” In the hopes of making Erik’s life easier with Pietro more manageable if they understood Pietro’s mutation to its full extent and in what ways it shaped his senses and reality.

“Uhm…. thirty minutes…” A piece of pancake fell off his fork and into the thick maple syrup pooling on his plate. As it dawned on the speedster, that he was in trouble. Sank himself into his chair, trying in a desperate attempt to look smaller.

Pietro asked an unfiltered question, that might have been considered rude if asked to any other telepath, besides Charles, “Do you have a button on your temple to turn on your telepathy?” The telepath gave a short laugh.

“Pietro don’t change the subject.” He could be stern when he wanted to be. Levitating Pietro’s knife and fork to the sink and picking up his plate, bringing it over to the sink, pulling up the handle, so warm water could rinse the plate of maple syrup still left on the plate.

Charles stressed, “Pietro… you’ve been gone for three hours.” He added, giving a short glance at Erik to get permission to continue. Erik gave a curt nod, “You had everyone worried sick about you. We had no idea where you were.” _Charles don’t parent my child. You have plenty all ready._ Erik projected, “Let’s try not to give your father a heart attack, Pietro?” Added, “May he live longer.” Getting up and wanted to have a side conversation with him and turning their backs to the speedster. In a hushed tone, “Do you have any idea where he was? Has he told you anything?”

“Pheasants, he told me that he had an encounter with a pheasant.”

“Oh, god! He could have been shot!” Before compensating with a snap reaction, “Yes. I know _actually_ where he was.” Hurried off to get the map of the mansion and its acreage.

Raven was just sitting on the counter sipping her coffee, taking a cue for it was time for her to leave, “I’m going to get ready for the day.” Added, “I’ll come back later the vase later. After I’m done with my coffee.” And made her way out of the kitchen. Only leaving Erik and Pietro.

He knew he was in trouble, Pietro sank lower, “Don’t think I have forgotten. Now, its time for your bath.” Motioning toward their bedrooms, “Let’s go.”

The father and son made their way to their respective right across from one another for safety reasons in Erik’s mind. It felt so odd and his bed was so cold without Pietro besides him. He just gotten so used it over the months of travel with his son. Perhaps this was for the best, Pietro did need to re-learn how to sleep on his own.

Erik made his way into his room, almost completely shut door, only leaving a crack behind him. As Pietro waited outside, looking inward. He mediated on the moment calming his nerves, the anger, the rage, the heartache, and the sadness inside him; as he summoned a black metal box, about the size of a shoe box with seemingly no lid. With a flick of his hand a seal of a tight led started to appear, before coming off on its own. Momentos from another life, the few possessions he managed to keep after the Shoah.

Pulled out a locket with the last remaining pictures of his mother and father in it. So much was lost in the firestorms of the air raids of Düsseldorf, an industrial center for the Reich. Pictures. Moments locked in time. He swore to himself that he would take pictures of what meant the most to him. The locket sung to him like any other metal, but this…sang a sad song. Fraught with so much sorrow.

It was the only way to keep Pietro safe. He couldn’t let him wonder off into the unknown like that again. With the like Shaw on the prowl, the world just wasn’t safe for him. In his sharp parental instinct Pietro knew what he was doing was wrong, but did it anyway. That’s what frightened him so much, especially after the attack at the CIA base. He didn’t tell him what he was doing or where he was going. They were going to have a nice long talk.

Erik whisked his hand over the box and sealed it with his powers again; placing the box where Pietro couldn’t find it. The metalbender came out of his room and gently tapped his son’s shoulder, guiding him to his bedroom; shutting and locking the door behind him. Pietro in a flash of sliver took off converse, that required a hose down and handwashed, even his white socks were covered in dried mud. The older mutant sat out a pair of clothes on the bed, and made his way over to the adjoining bathroom. Erik felt the metal and mentally pulled on the hot and cold knobs, letting the water warm up as it came out the spout, before swirling it down the drain. Erik tossed his leather jacket on a chair, he wasn’t going to be needed it, and rolled up his sleeves, before going into the bathroom. He got out the first aid kit, hydrogen peroxide, and Neosporin, that would be used after Pietro bath to address his wounds.

Tested the water with his hand, it was the right temperature, not too hot, but not cold either; lukewarm, plug the tub to let it fill with water; squeezing a couple of squirts of bodywash into the tub for a bubble bath. “Let’s skin the rabbit.” Pulling off Pietro’s shirt and tossing it aside in pile for laundry. The younger mutant catapulted into the tub, a wave of sudsy water breaching the tub’s wall and dripping all over the floor. Pietro played with his toy boat and shark. Erik watched him for a few moments

Erik’s voice echoed and reverberated off the titles of the bathroom. A song that his own mother sung to him and now was singing to his own son. An old Yiddish song of his people. He sang it was he washed his son, lathering him with soap, the mud drizzled down his son’s skin and into the bottom of the tub.

_iz di goldene pave gefloygn, gefloygn._

_un di nakht hot geefnet di goldene oygn,_

_likhtiker mayner, shlof ayn._

_di nakht hot geefnet di goldene oygn,_

_bin ikh fidl gevorn un du der boygn,_

_umruiker mayner, shlof ayn._

_bin ikh fidl gevorn un du der boygn,_

_un doz glik iber undz hot farlibt zikh geboygn,_

_tsertlekher mayner, shlof ayn._

_un dos glik iber undz hot farlibt zikh geboygn,_

_gelozt undz aleyn un farfloygn, farfloygn,_

_troyeriker mayner, shlof ayn._

Has the golden peacock flown away, flown away.

And the night has opened its golden eyes,

Bright one of mine, go to sleep.

The night has opened its golden eyes,

I’ve become the fiddle and you the bow,

Restless one of mine, go to sleep.

I’ve become the fiddle and you the bow,

And fortune has smittenly concerned herself with us,

Tender one of mine, go to sleep.

And fortune has smittenly concerned herself with us,

Left us alone and flown on, flown on.

Sad one of mine, go to sleep.

Erik raised a rinse cup water cascading like a waterfall down, clean free of suds, rinsed Pietro’s starlight sliver hair free of shampoo and conditioner. Erik pulled the plug to let the bathwater slowly go down, leaving a swath of dirt amassed behind. The metalbender got a fresh towel and wrapped his son in it, so he wouldn’t be cold and helped his son out of the tub by scooping him out and placing him on a bath rug to let. Started rubbing Pietro down to dry him off.

“Vati, I got it.” Pietro step over a few step to the sink, vibrated his body allowing the water droplets to collect on his towel, a blink later came back fully dressed; through his sliver hair was wild. Not as soaked as before, a few drops of water went down his shirt. He would let it air-dry. Erik brushed the locks back. Placed the brush down the counter, touched his auburn bristles. He would need a shave later.

“Let’s fix you up.” Lifted Pietro up to the counter to address his wounds. Unscrewing the hydrogen peroxide dashed a few splashes on each wound one at a time and letting it bubble up, before giving it another dash. Pietro hissed in a slight pain. He did it three times, cleaned up the excess residue with a warm washcloth. Dotted and drabbled each of them with Neosporin, pressed a patch of white gauze and wrapped it in cohesive bandages that were dark beige. Unlike other band-aid that would lose their adhesive after getting wet; theses would not and survive longer on his speedster son, after many trial and error. Erik picked up his son and placed him on the floor.

“Now, we’re going to have a talk.” Erik walked out and sat on the edge of the bed. He knew his son wasn’t following him. He steeled his voice, “Pietro.” The sliver hair mutant shoulder’s sank and head down low as he walked over to his father and climbed to a seat by his father’s side. After experiencing what he experienced in the camps and what Shaw did to him. He was never going to lay a hand on his child. Children were a lot smarter than most parents took them for. He just never understood the logic of being a tyrant to their own children and if they broke rules a screaming session would commence followed by a beating or shoving them in a closet and locking it until after dinner. And somehow beating and yelling at a child would make them stop doing the bad behavior. If anything, it would make them rebel and fear. No he had something much more effective and he had to say was: “I’m very disappointed in you Pietro.”

“Vati, I...” Pausing as Erik looked down at his son. Trying to form the thought he wanted to express, but not quickly enough. His thoughts moved faster than a freight train on top speed; and his thoughts kept on speeding and wouldn’t stop until becoming a blur of untenable colors and sounds. “I am sorry that I worried you so much. I didn’t mean to do it. I-I just wanted to do something nice for Raven.”

“Pietro what you did for Raven was a good thing and I’m very proud of you.”

“But what you did was very foolish.” He let the words sink in, “But you put yourself needless danger. When you didn’t need to be.” Erik pointed out to his son, “I didn’t know where you were and you didn’t tell me where you were going. You know the danger of Shaw and the threat he represents to our family. What’s worse is that you did anyway. Did it even occur to you of how much danger you were in?”

Pietro rubbed his nose trying to clean his runny nose in a effort to stop himself from crying, “I didn’t mean to Vati. I was having so much fun. I-I no, I- didn’t know.” Then abruptly added, “But when I was leaving…it became silent. Every animal stopped talking. Something was wrong.”

Erik’s heart thundered in his chest. Pietro was in real danger. This made the situation even more serious.

“Pietro, I am not angry at you. Just so so disappointed in you because you felt that you couldn’t come to me about this. I taught you better.” The older mutant held the younger mutant’s shoulder scooted him closer to his chest, subconsciously trying to protect him. “I was scared.” His voice cracking, the horror of losing another family member to that man. He couldn’t bare it.

“But, Vati you’re never scared.”

“Pietro, I was scared today. Frightened even. I thought I lost you.” Letting out a breath to steady himself, “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. And you didn’t tell me where you were. I didn’t know where you were for three hours and for a moment…” Erik relived that moment in his mind over again, “I thought Shaw had you. And he was going to do you what he did to me, when I was your age. Something you should never have to experience.” Wiped away a tear trickling down his face.

“Pietro, I love you so much. You are my world.” Encircling his child in a hug, squeezing him tightly. Letting him go, so that he could bring out the locket that he got from his box of momentos, “Now, I want you to wear this. It sings to me.” Giving a pause, “It will know where you are and if you are in trouble. I find you and protect you.” With the help of his abilities helped him latch it onto the chain. Before opening the locket, Pietro gasped to see the images of his lost family. “Bobeshi and Zeydee are always close.” Please look after him. Kissed Pietro on the forehead.

“Vati, I thought I saw a _Keresh!”_ Erik smiled at his son’s imagination and may he keep it when he is older. The _Keresh_ , the giant deer with its one horn in the forest of Bei Ilai.

“Oh really?” Getting off the bed, followed by his son. Suggesting, “Perhaps we can go there for a picnic. How does that sound?” Pietro hopped up and down in excitement. “Then we can look for the _Keresh_ together?”

The younger mutant hugged his father leg, “yesyesyesyesyessssss!” 

“Now, I heard Sean had some new comic books something about the Justice League?” Padding him on his shoulder, “Go on, you’re free.” Pietro zoomed out, unlocking the door, and flashed out. Erik went over to the chair to get his jacket and came out of the room to see Charles and Hank talking to one another.

“This absolutely fascinating. If what you say is true than Pietro might live in his own reality like the Scalosian in Star Trek; living in a Hyper-accelerated reality. The way he perceives time is extraordinary. At some point the concept of time is not going to matter in his existence.”

Coming up behind him, “All very fascinating, Hank.” His hands his pockets, “Charles can we talk?” He didn’t like Hank talking about his son like that. Fully unaware of his cognitive dissonance as talked about his fellow mutant like some theoretical theory or equation. Not recognizing his son’s humanity. He was going to put a stop to it: “But if you find something that’s actually helpful in my parenting of my son. Do mention it.” Gave a pause, “But I do not need to remind you, Hank of all people. That you need my permission to run any medical exams on him. Or are you like Dr. Jekyll? Being your own lab rat. Because my son isn’t one.” There was something that always irked him about Hank, having one foot in human society and the other; but not accepting of either. Fully wanting to be part of human society, but failing in seeing the negating aspect of himself, his mutation, that barred him in participating as an equal in that society. His technocratic solutions to mutantkind ills.

Hank backed down; this was the one issue he wasn’t willing to challenge Erik on. Made an excuse to leave, “I got to go clean some lab equipment.”

When Hank was out of sight, Charles chastised, “Did you really have to do that Erik?” shaking his head in disappointment, “Hank wouldn’t do that your son, he respects your wishes. He is an ethical man.”

Erik gave a sarcastic huff, “Not the way I see it Charles. He is desperate for a cure. You’re very naïve Charles, if you can’t see that in him. Or is it that you don’t want to see it in him?” Erik gave a pause to let his doubts sink in, “He’ll do anything to get it. No matter how unethical or stupid it might be. He’ll keep doing it, over and over. Until he is told no!”

Charles changed the subject; they would be discussing this topic during their weekly chess match, “Pietro was in a game reserve.” Erik heart nearly stop right then and there, “My step-father opened up some of the property for hunting to help pay off his debts.”

“Pietro thought he saw someone.”

“That is impossible. As sole proprietor of the estate, I get final say who can hunt.”

“I’m not so sure, Charles.”

“Then they must be trespassing.” The telepath objected, leaving the only remaining option, “You think its Shaw?” Erik gave a curt nod. “Then I’ll put on my hiking boots and we can search the area.”

“And question anyone who dared thought about hurting or taking, my son away from me.”

Charles gave an audible gulp. He and Erik had very two different opinions on what questioning meant.

**Author's Note:**

> Fourth rule of fanfiction: if you like this story, fav it or leave a kudos.  
> Fifth rule of fanfiction; if you really like a story, reblog it too like on Tumblr  
> Final rule of fanfiction: Comment; we need to normalize commenting, please no flames, but commenting; it doesn't have to be long (though I would gladly appreciate it), it can be short. It won't take long I promise. 
> 
> Please comment. I would love to hear your thoughts on my work. I don't bite. 
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